


gorrión

by Anonymous



Category: Ozark (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "A yes or a no," Del says softly, playing no games. Not yet. "That's all I need."
Relationships: Marty Byrde/Camino Del Rio
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36
Collections: Anonymous





	gorrión

**Author's Note:**

> So i watched uhhh 2 episodes? Have this. Please comment. Love you

Fear is a paralytic, and that's not good for business. Actually, it's not good for anything. 

_I am not scared. I am not scared. I am not scared_.

He repeats it over and over in his mind until it's true. True in the sense that he's no longer sweating bullets when his phone rings with No Caller ID. But acquiring that fearlessness creates another problem. A problem which starts out small, and snowballs into a giant fucking disaster.

On the flip side, cocaine is a miracle motivator. 

"Del," Marty says. His tone is warning, but he doesn't really know what he's hoping to achieve by it. It's not that he truly thinks this would happen without his consent- more the fact that they both know it will happen, _with_ his consent, because Marty is lonely and pretty fucking high, and hasn't got laid in a very, very long time.

"A yes or a no," Del says softly, playing no games. Not yet. "That's all I need." 

Marty's heart flutters sparrow-like against his ribcage. His grip on the arm of the sofa is like a vice; fingers turning white. 

Del's hand brushes his thigh. It creeps a little higher, until it rests, posing the inevitable question. His chin is resting on Marty's shoulder, lips pressed against his neck. It makes it hard to form coherent thought. 

The problem is that when Marty overcomes his fear, he finds something else. And that's attraction.

Inadvisable, stupid, and dangerous. 

"Come on, Marty. Don't waste my time."

That awakens his dormant, diligently subdued stress response and starts leaking cortisol into his bloodstream. Del doesn't like having his time wasted. 

"We both know this is _not_ a sensible road to go down," Marty whispers, tilting his head so he can squint at Del's expression. 

"Last week you were _going down_ on me," Del counters, a mocking glint in his eye. 

Marty winces, hit with a technicolor replay of Del's cock and how it felt crammed down his throat. "That was-" 

"It was what?" Del laughs. A mean sound. "A midlife crisis? A ploy to distract me? I don't think so."

Marty is acutely aware that he's halfway sprawled on Del's lap. He doesn't know how it happened, but he remembers that when the room started to spin, and his tongue started to loosen, Del was guiding him onto the sofa and threading his fingers through Marty's hair, another hand splayed suggestively at his hips. 

"I think you are wanting someone to touch you," Del whispers. He drags his tongue across Marty's neck, making him tense and shudder. "I think you don't care who it is. Even me." 

He pauses. Marty can feel him smile against his skin. 

"No. _Especially_ me," Del corrects himself. He starts to undo Marty's zip with one hand, who catches himself vaguely impressed. 

"The closer to the eye of the storm, the safer you feel, no?" 

Marty swallows, hard. He doesn't answer, caught like a rabbit in a trap. His mouth feels dry, and his cock is uncomfortably hard. Everything Del says is true. He craves this so badly it's lighting his skin on fire. 

Before it overwhelms him, he curls his fingers around Del's wrist, gripping tight and grounding himself. The skin there is rough, coarse-haired. A man's skin; undeniable. But that's another thing to shove deep into the filing cabinet of his brain to deal with later.

"Yes," Marty says. His voice is low and threatening to break. 

"Yes what?"

Marty sighs shakily, squeezing his eyes shut as he accepts defeat. "Yes, please touch me." 

Del murmurs something, light and pleased, but Marty's Spanish is too poor to make it out. The hand teasing at his fly slips underneath his briefs, and he inhales sharply when it closes around his dick. 

The part of his brain that is not commandeered by blind lust and coke tells him he's going to regret this tomorrow, and for the record, the sounds he makes when he's getting jerked off are ridiculous. 

Del seems to like it; the laboured breathing. When Marty tries to jam a fist into his mouth to stop his whining, Del wrenches it away. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Marty grits out, arching his back, head resting on Del's shoulder as he delivers a real world-class handjob. He wonders where Del learned to do this, or if he is bluffing his way through, as he does with most things. 

_You get Sugarwood,_ Marty thinks, suddenly viciously amused, _and I get this._ And then he stops, because he doesn't want to think about Wendy, or Wendy cheating, or the perpetual threat of death over his head. He wants to let go. At this moment in time, he wants to let go, and he wants Del to catch him. 

"That's good," Del murmurs. He uses his thumb to spread Marty's precome over the head of his dick, laughing softly when Marty gives a strangled moan. "Seeing you like this, it's very... gratificante. Gratifying? Yes. You talk a big game, but when my hand is around your cock, then you lose your words." 

Marty comes. 

He's shaking. He's completely pliant in Del's arms, trying to catch his breath. That post orgasmic dread doesn't set in. He's floating on a fucking cloud, shaped like a leader of the second largest drug cartel in Mexico. 

He knows he shouldn't have allowed it to happen. But it's so hard to explain the way he hungers for this kind of intimacy, taking it from the worst kind of places, because when he finally gets it, he's reset. He's new. He can think clearly again. 

"You know what I like about you, Marty?" Del says, while he deliberately pets at Marty's oversensitive cock. Marty jumps in his grasp, but Del's arm around his waist holds him firm. "You are smart enough to know that doing what I say is always the best option for you."

He lifts his hand, the one covered in come, to Marty's mouth. Waiting, expectant. 

Marty closes his eyes, and he starts to lick Del's fingers clean. 


End file.
